The Cry for Help
by little.miss.sarcasm
Summary: Troy is in an abusive relationship... with his father.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note: **So here's the deal, if you read the last chapter I posted in the original Cry for Help, you can get the full scoop. Basically, I, little miss sarcasm, am rewriting Cry for Help. Why? Because I can! Thanks! Please review if you like the changes and whatnot! Note: you do not need to read the original one to understand this one.

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**Chapter 1**  
Rain fell in a white sheet that day.

The thunder rumbled loudly showing no hope of ceasing or quieting down. Lightning flashed brilliantly for a brief moment before disappearing and leaving the world in an endless black night. Rain drops swirled rapidly from their billowing, dark clouds and dropped into puddles before leaping out like scared crickets and bouncing back down, sending lazy ripples across the black depths of the puddle.

The scene looked like a desperate cry for trouble, like the weather and its murky clouds wished for bad to happen; the sky swirled in anger, and a raging flash of lightning brightened the scene before letting it pommel into infinite darkness. But nonetheless, Troy Bolton wished the storm would never end.

It showed a power that enthralled Troy. It controlled how people could come and go or how many lives it could ruin with one bolt of lightning or one unforeseen flashflood. Troy felt powerless against the storm, but he knew it couldn't stop.

But he could hardly stop what was haunting him then, either.

He started a fire in the fireplace and let its light illuminate the room, casting an orange glow to every surface. The light licked his features and sent a warm wave of light on his battered body and his handsome face. The light flickered and fell onto the wooden coffee table, reflecting off a sheet of dust-covered glass that preserved a photo, a memory, one Troy no longer cherished but instead shook his head at, aching for the genuine happiness he had felt at that moment the photo was taken.

It was a picture of himself, sitting on a swing, smiling broadly with his two front teeth missing. His dad squatted down beside him, a smile plastered on his face, and he was holding onto the ropes on the swing, as if to say that he was making sure Troy wouldn't fall. As of lately, he was the one to push Troy over the edge, giving him hope that he would be caught on the way down, but then letting him crash right to the ground. The picture reflected into his dazzling blue eyes, ones that were darkened by interminable pain and fear. An angry monster clawed at his stomach, growling and fighting to escape.

A twisted thought ran through him until his cruel curiosity pushed him to look upon himself in the mirror. He gently peeled his shirt off his back and let the firelight, the only source of light in the room, show his body. Troy's eyes flashed with horror as he saw bruises blotching his torso. They spotted his upper body: bleeding out, spreading far, and randomly grouped covering his chest and back.

Troy let out a shudder and turned away from the mirror. He shook his head, shaking his sandy brown hair into his eyes. Quickly, he pushed his bangs away, pushing back the tears that pricked at the corner of his eyes. He turned to leave his confinement, trapped in walls of his own house. Still, tears bit his eyes. Ashamed of his weakness, he let out a growl of rage and looked in the doorway to find it occupied by a dark, minute figure that slouched against the frame. Troy stumbled backwards, searching desperately for something to help him.

"Troy?" it asked lovingly. "Troy, honey, are you okay?"

Lucy Bolton stepped from the shadows, tears shining in her chocolate brown eyes. Tentatively, she walked up to Troy, widening her eyes as she looked at Troy's battered torso.

"I'm fine," Troy said. He felt his body relax and sat on the couch, letting his tee shirt's fabric slide repeatedly through his fingers. With fumbling hands, he slipped it over his head and turned his head to look at his mother, his tears finally swallowed.

"Honey, I'm so sorry," Lucy said, voice hitching. She sat next to Troy, a slight figure against Troy's striking stature. She placed a hand on his denim-clad thigh, rubbing his leg reassuringly. "I'm sorry. I didn't know he'd had been…" Her words stopped short.

"I know," Troy cut in with a sigh, elbows on his knees, his torso bent forward. He didn't look his mother in the eye, flipping his head away from her. Silence clouded the room.

"I'm sorry," Lucy said so quietly her words could've been lost in the wind. "I'm so sorry."

"Mom, we can't live like this," Troy said desperately. "We can't keep having this happen."

"He doesn't mean to, Troy," Lucy said tensely. "He's a good father and a good husband. He'll change. He will."

"G-d," Troy said, sighing and shaking his head. "I hope so."

---------------  
Denying had become somewhat of a game for Lucy.

Another day, another thing to deny.

Her clothes were too tight?

Oh, no, they weren't! She was just a little bloated. They really did fit!

Troy got a bad grade on a test?

Never! His teacher was just out to get him. He really was a bright boy— straight A student!

Her husband was an abusive alcoholic?

Well, of course not. That's just preposterous.

It was well past midnight, and Troy laid wide awake in the heart of night watching the gleaming embers of the fire fizz down to sparks of red flames. The logs crackled and snapped as it broke and rotted, hitting the grate with a clang. He sat silently on the hearth and waited for sleep to enter his restless mind. Troy put a hand up to rub his tired face. A lump formed in his throat, thinking of what had happened right on this very hearth hours before. He pushed the lump away and forced it to stay down. He didn't need to cry. Crying was for weak people. He wasn't weak.

Really.

He wasn't.

But did it make him weak to be scared shitless?

A light in Troy's bedroom was suddenly flipped on, and the beams poked him hard in the eyes. He rolled over to escape the blinding rays but only succeeded in hitting his head on the bedside table. He moaned and brought his hand to his throbbing head, not opening his eyes.

"Wake up, Troy!" Jack shouted from somewhere above his son. "Now!"

Troy moaned, rubbing his eyes as he stumbled clumsily to his feet.

"Good morning to you too, Dad," he yawned, scratching the back of his head with his hand. He sat up, leaning against his headboard, absolutely exhausted from the lack of sleep he had gotten. "Sleep well?" he asked in a mockingly bright tone. "Great! So did I! Breakfast? I'd love some!"

"Stop kidding around, Troy," Jack said, holding his temple with one hand. "Just… go get dressed."

Troy glanced at the metal clock on the side table that read five o' clock in the morning, which for someone who wasn't constantly training in the morning was very early… even for someone who was constantly training in the morning, it was early.

"Go get dressed," Mr. Bolton demanded again. "Meet me outside in five minutes. And don't ditz around. I'm really not in the mood."

Troy quietly snuck downstairs, careful to avoid waking his mom up on the way. He opened the door to the laundry room and searched for clothes to wear. Finally, he found a pair of red shorts and a white tee shirt and pulled them on. He rushed out of the house with difficulty, trying to stuff his feet into a pair of shoes on the way. He skidded to a halt in front of his dad who was standing in the middle of the lit driveway, and said, "I'm ready."

"You look awful, Troy," Mr. Bolton moaned. "When I said get ready, I meant get some clean clothes on, not raid the laundry room for the most disgusting thing you own."

Yup. He had a hangover, one big-ass hangover. His eyes were rimmed with heavy bags, he kept holding his temples, which meant he had a headache, and he shielded his eyes with his hands, sensitive to even the early morning— very early morning— light.

But Troy didn't argue his dad's comment, for he knew it was true. He watched as his father paced with his hands on their posts at his temple and over his eyes.  
Troy was snapped out of his reverie caused by mere lack of sleep, by the cutting bark of his father's voice, instructing, "I want you to run suicides for the next half hour. The first stop is the flowerbed, the second is the window, and the third is the end of the driveway. I'll call you when your time's up, and I better not see you slack off or stop. Ready? Go."

But Troy didn't move. Instead, he stared dumfounded at his father, his feet like roots in the concrete of the driveway. He shivered; even though he lived in Albuquerque, New Mexico, the winter had just begun, and it nipped at his bare arms, legs, and face mercilessly, stinging his eyes and slapping his skin like a wave of icy water. Jack watched as Troy just stared at him stupidly and finally said, "Are you deaf or something?" Troy shook his head. "I said go!"

"Why?" Troy asked, absolutely flummoxed.

"Because I said so!" Mr. Bolton shouted. "You want me to make it an hour?"

Troy shook his head but still didn't start his running. Jack looked flabbergasted and opened his mouth to yell, but Troy cut him off. He scratched the back of his head and said uncomfortably, "Dad, the season just started, and it's five in the morning on a school day. Can't this wait until later?"

"Excuse me?" Mr. Bolton asked. He stepped so their faces were only a few inches apart. He only had about an inch of height on Troy, but he had years of muscle and a whole lot of authority to even that out. "Are you talking back to me?"

"N-no!" Troy stuttered, backing away from his dad. "I was just—"

"Fine!" Jack said airily, anger clearly heard in his statement. "Fine. If you aren't ready to exercise, then I guess you aren't ready for the team."

"No, Dad," Troy said desperately. "I was just saying—"

"Go inside, Troy," Jack said, sarcasm gracing every word. "You've made it quite clear that you don't want to be here, so go."

Troy didn't need any further encouragement. He walked into the house and headed straight for the second floor where his bedroom and bathroom were located. If he was already up, he might as well get ready. He heard the door in the kitchen click open and slam close, so he ran the rest of the way into the bathroom, shutting it tightly behind him. Troy heard his father muttering to himself and the refrigerator door swing open, the glass of beer bottles clinking together. He listened for the squeal of the styrofoam egg carton container coming out of the fridge and then decided he was safe, turning to the shower once more.

Troy swung the glass door open with a swish and leaned far into the tile shower, letting his dirty shoes murk the bottom with brown torrents of liquid, and turned on the water, not caring how hot or cold the stream would be. An icy blast of water jetted out of the showerhead and slapped Troy's tattered back. He let out a yelp and jumped back out of the shower just in time to hear his mother's voice outside the bathroom door, her tiny knuckles knocking on the wood of the door cautiously.

"Troy, honey, is that you?" she asked over the slap of the water on the tiles.

Troy pushed himself as far back as he could in the bathroom and shouted, "Yeah, Mom, it's me! I'm showering! I'll be out in a minute!"

"What are you doing up so early?" Lucy asked gently. Troy could imagine her wrapping her purple terrycloth robe around herself and checking the giant clock at the end of the hall. "It's five in the morning."

"Oh, I woke up and went to exercise with Dad," he semi-lied. He did wake up to do that! Just because it didn't happen…

"Okay, well…" Lucy's voice trailed. "Do you need some help?"

At that question, the hardened lump in his throat returned. She assumed he was in there to bind up a cut or cover a bruise, not to actually shower. No. That would be too normal. And he was Troy Bolton.

Normal and Troy Bolton don't mix very well.

"No, I'm good," Troy called, voice cracking. He cleared his throat, his baritone pitch returned. "Thanks though."

Troy stripped off his unused practice outfit and climbed in the shower, letting the now-warm water pelt his back roughly, cringing when the drops came in contact with his skin. He sighed and grabbed the shampoo, squirting the gel into his hands.

No.

Troy Bolton and normal don't mix at all.

Troy came downstairs, toweling his hair dry. Lucy was manning the stove, steam and the sizzling noise of eggs seemingly swallowing her small body. Jack was sitting at the square wooden table, reading the Albuquerque Sun Times newspaper and crunching on a piece of toast.

"You ready for school?" Jack said, not looking up from his paper and taking a chomp on the darkened square of bread. "If not, you have five minutes before I drive away from this house."

"Yeah, I'm ready," Troy said. He turned down the hall, tossed his wet towel into one of the baskets in the laundry room and went back into the kitchen. He walked over to the counter and grabbed a mug and the half-full coffee pot.

"You aren't wearing that," Mr. Bolton said, folding his paper shut. "Go change."

"What's wrong with this?" Troy asked, stopping in the middle of pouring himself a cup of coffee.

"Your shirt is …" Jack's voice trailed. "Just. You can't wear it. And don't even think about pouring yourself a cup of coffee."

Troy stared in disbelief at his dad as Jack carried his empty plate over to the sink and let it clatter in. As Jack started to drain his own cup of coffee, Troy said, "Dad, without the caffeine boost, the doctor said I'll get migraines. You know—"

"I know what the doctor said, Troy," Jack snapped. "I'm still disappointed by the way you acted this morning. I don't see why you showed get rewarded for acting like you did. Now go change."

Troy shot his dad a dirty look before trudging upstairs. The only reason he wasn't allowed to wear the shirt was because it was short sleeved— too revealing. Well, if Jack didn't want anyone seeing the bruises, he shouldn't make them in the first place! Troy walked into his room and reached instinctively to shut the door before turning to the cluttered floor. "Dad, what should I wear?" he called down the stairs.

"I don't care, Troy," Jack said back up.

"Well, obviously, you do if you made change in the first place," Troy muttered.

After getting a good look at his room and deeming it completely void of appropriate clothes, he went downstairs into the laundry room for the third time that morning. He searched desperately for a clean shirt under the mountain of clothing. He hunted for some clothes. It was a futile attempt, for Troy's mother didn't have the time to do laundry lately, and it wouldn't be cleaned until she found the time; G-d forbid Jack would do them.

Troy's main trick was to find clean articles. He finally decided on a green long sleeved tee shirt, but as he tried to put it on, he got a rather upsetting glimpse of himself in the mirror. Bruises were crawling down his arms, blotching his skin purple and blue. They crept up the nape of his neck but that he hardly dared worry about; his shaggy head of brown hair would surely cover it.

Troy sighed and pulled the shirt over his head. He found it extremely painful to pull the shirt over his straining limbs so did it excruciatingly slow as not to upset his beat-up torso.

A dull throb had begun to pulse in Troy's temple as he made his way to the car, hitching his backpack over his injured shoulder. He winced as the throbbing slowly grew larger and stronger, beating until his entire skull was twisting with pain.

"Dad?" Troy asked as he and Jack made their way into the crowded parking lot of East High. "What am I going to do about practice? I can't wear the jersey."

"Why?" Jack asked, angered immediately. "Did you lose it?"

"It's sleeveless."

There was a silence, lengthened by tension, before Mr. Bolton glanced uneasily at Troy and asked, "Are you sure?"

"Well, you were the one who made me change this morning," Troy said, irritated. "So I don't know—"

"All right!" Jack shouted, the noise sending ripples of pain through Troy's head. "Just pretend you lost your jersey."

Troy sighed. "Fine."

"And I'll expect seventy suicides by the end of practice."

"What?" Troy asked. "Wha— why?"

"You know the rules, Troy," Jack said, shaking his head as he turned into the parking spot designated for Coach Bolton. "If you come unprepared to practice, you run seventy suicides."

Angered, Troy jumped out of the car.

"Bye, Dad!" Troy shouted with false happiness. "Thanks!"

He slammed the door shut, and his dad parked the car, reaching into the glove compartment for some painkillers; no hangover-headaches are allowed at school. Troy put a hand on his throbbing temple and made his way into the building. He pushed through the front door and began navigating with ease through the oncoming teachers and students. He searched for a brown-haired, brown-eyed maiden who was anxiously awaiting his arrival. Troy found her in front of his locker, pacing quickly. He snuck up behind her and masked her eyes with his warm hands.

"Guess who."

"Get away, you stalker!" Gabriella teased playfully. She turned around and faced Troy happily. Her face fell a bit. "You look tired. Sleep enough?"

"Not really," Troy said, throwing books in and out of his locker. His friends were used to that though. Troy never slept whether he was having a bad night or not. He wasn't someone who slept a lot, and he had good reason. The nightmares could sometimes be scarier than reality.

"Well, did you even try?" Gabriella asked. "You look like the Night of the Living Dead just strolled into East High." Well, Troy didn't think he looked that bad.

Troy was about to retort smartly when he saw his father approaching down the hall. He tossed his geometry book into his backpack before turning to Gabriella and saying, "I'm going to hit the library before homeroom to see if that got that book I was waiting for."

"Wait," Gabriella said. "You read?"

"Ha. Ha. Ha," Troy said sarcastically, fake laughing in her face and slamming his locker door shut.

She giggled and said, "I'll come with you. I've got to return a book anyway."

She swung her backpack over her shoulder and plopped it onto the ground heavily. Gabriella fished through her large textbooks and filled-up notebooks until she clutched onto her latest reading find. She took it out and announced, "Got it!" Her brown curls slapped her face as she looked back and forth down the hall.

"Where'd he go?"

Troy breezed into homeroom four minutes early and took a seat at his desk, lazily tossing his backpack onto the floor. He sighed and cradled his throbbing head into his hands. In an attempt muffle a moan, his shoulders shook and jerked. He stopped and cursed himself for being so feeble.

Troy sighed once again and latched his hands behind his head in a mock hammock, leaning his head back to let it rest. His mind flicked to his cell phone that lay in the pocket of his backpack, and he was so tempted to call his mom and beg her to come pick him up from school. It was tempting, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He didn't want to be the one to ruin her relaxing day alone at home. So he'd cope, because, remember:

He wasn't weak.

He was just scared shitless.

Troy let out a cry of pain and clutched his head tightly, clenching his teeth. His dependency on coffee was embarrassing to him. His friends and parents were the only ones that knew of it. He had developed it around age fifteen, much to the dismay of Jack, who warned Troy of the addiction for a long time before.

"Troy?"

Troy whipped around, upsetting the delicate balance of his aching head. Kelsi was in the doorway leaning heavily against the frame. She cautiously stepped out of her spot and into the room, slowly making her way towards Troy. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Troy said, letting his head fall into his hands again. "I didn't sleep much last night."

"Oh. Do you need anything?" Kelsi asked softly.

Troy shook his head, letting a fresh wave of pain erupt and bleed through the fragile state of his mind. "Nothing you can get."

And he meant it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note: **Well, I'm glad I got a good response to the changes in the first chapter! Here's the second chapter, but first, I'm going to address some reviews.

** AMsynchronicity **I'm really glad you told me how you felt about my writing of the Lord's name. I appreciate that you told me, and I took it into consideration for a while. The thing is, teenager's do say the Lord's name in vain, and I can't change that. I want to make my characters as close to reality as I can— without making them boring— and it's a religious belief of mine not to write out the Lord's name, so I will continue this, and I'm sorry it irks you. I hope it doesn't discourage you from still reading my story.

**camibear **Ha, yes, I felt that Troy needed a caring parent, so I gave up Lucy to niceness. It was a happy change for me. I like the story more with her nice. As for what she does, well, I can't tell you that! Haha, sorry! And as for using Kelsi, I don't know. I felt we didn't see a lot of her, and I knew Gabriella showed up more in the story, so I figured,let's just use Kelsi. Haha, no real reason behind it other than that!

Anyway! Let's get reading! This is a short chapter.

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**Chapter 2**

"Good try!" Troy shouted to his panting and heaving team.

They were just ending a particularly awful practice: Chad and Jason had collided, messing up the entire play, making Bill Morrison trip over them and sprain his ankle, Zeke had tried doing the wrong play eight times and gotten everyone confused to the point of screaming at Troy, and Troy felt so raw that he could hardly move without wincing in pain.

And he still had the suicides to look forward to.

"Why don't we—um…" He could hardly voice that he wanted to throw the practice to his tired but trying team, so he turned to Chad and asked desperately, "Any suggestions?"

Chad shrugged in defeat. "Let's just scrimmage."

"We only have red jerseys," Zeke noted, scanning the sea of sweaty teenage boys.

Troy fidgeted nervously and added, "And mine's green." He tugged at the edge of his shirt anxiously.

"How about shirts versus skins?" Jason shrugged. "Troy can just be skins?"

Troy felt his stomach back flip as the team muttered their agreement. He let Chad assign teams, and everyone dashed to opposite ends of the gym to eagerly start their game. They all loved basketball, but sometimes it was nice to relax and have a little fun. Scrimmage did just that for them.

"Come on, Troy!" Jason shouted, tossing his jersey onto the floor beside the bleachers. "We can't play without you!"

Troy felt his heart beat wildly in his chest. He searched for a plausible excuse and came up with, "Actually, I have to finish up my suicides. You guys go ahead. I'll come when I can."

He then ran over to the far side of the gym and began his long set of suicides, wondering vaguely how his tired body would be able to keep up with the strenuous effort. He ran back and forth across the gym, his chest heaving. By the time he had reached over half them, he collapsed onto the floor heavily.

Chad called the practice, and the team ran madly to the locker rooms, cheering out their school spirit. Zeke, Chad, and Jason were the only ones left behind. The three friends jogged over to Troy who looked asleep on the cold floor of the gym. His eyes were closed, and his chest was moving to a steady beat as it tried to balance the wild beating of his heart.

Without opening his eyes, he said, "I should probably finish up those suicides." Troy pulled himself off the floor with great effort but then faltered from exhaustion. Chad's quick hands caught Troy as he wavered, and Troy hastily recovered himself by saying, "Thanks… um…"

Chad noticed by now that without his help, Troy could hardly stand on his own. He and his friends shot worried glances at each other, and Chad helped Troy to sit on the bleachers. "How many have you done?"

"Forty-nine."

"I'll finish them up for you," Chad offered, picking up a stray water bottle and handing it over to Troy, who took it gratefully and didn't bother to ask whose it was before greedily drinking its contents.

"Yeah," Jason agreed quickly.

"We'll all do them," Zeke said, shooting a worried glance at Troy.

"Nah," Troy said after finishing his drink. He took a deep breath before saying, "I think that the water helped but thanks anyway."

He tried to stand but found that he couldn't bring himself to do it. Troy looked over at his friends and shrugged, hoping they would leave him alone. He gave a grunt of pain and pushed himself off the bleachers only to be caught by Zeke's strong hands.

"Dude, we can handle seven suicides," Chad said as Zeke lowered Troy back onto the wooden bleacher. "You're working yourself too hard."

"No, I'm really not," Troy said. "Come on, guys, it's a few suicides."

"You know, both Kelsi and Gabriella said you haven't slept a lot," Zeke said.

"Besides, you've been running yourself ragged all practice. Just give yourself a break," Jason said. Troy opened up his mouth to reply, but Chad cut him off, putting a hand on hisfriend's shoulder.

"Just relax a bit."

Troy smiled weakly as his friend began running across the gym. As soon as they had reached out of his range he muttered a very grateful, "Thanks," before nodding slowly off to sleep.

Chad signaled to his friends as he saw Troy drift to sleep. They all had the same looks etched across their faces: worry. Troy had never been so forgetful, and he had also never been so… feeble. It wasn't like him to stay out of a scrimmage no matter how many suicides he had to do. He was the energetic Troy Bolton! He knew no break. Zeke gently prodded Troy's sleeping form and whispered, "Wake up, Troy. Come on, we have to go shower."

Troy's eyelids barely fluttered open, and he lifted his head towards his friends. "Whazgoinon?" he asked sleepily. The friends chuckled and helped him off the ground. They then slowly made their way to the locker rooms, half-carrying Troy down the halls. As soon as they made it in the correct locker section, they laid Troy on the metal bench so he was back down with one leg in a V shape on the bench, the other dangling onto the floor and one arm laid across his chest with the other's knuckles just barely brushing the cold ground. "I hate my life!" Troy moaned jokingly through his laughter. His friends laughed as they spun the locks on their lockers.

"Then sleep some more, man," Zeke said, pounding a fist on his locker door and smiling as it popped open. "I mean, seriously, there isn't a law that says you're only allowed to sleep four hours a night."

"I know," Troy said with a sigh. He rested his arm over his eyes to shield them from the bright light on the ceiling. He had gotten this talk many times before. He knew just what they were going to say, and they knew just what he was going to say in return. The fight was futile, but they always attempted it.

"So maybe you should think about getting to sleep earlier?" Chad suggested, grabbing a tee shirt out of his locker. Troy shrugged.

"Yeah, I will."

"And maybe leaving school earlier?" Jason added. "You know, and come later?"

Troy nodded, eyes and half his face masked by the arm shielding it. "Will do."

"Troy, are you even listening to us?" Chad asked.

"I will," Troy said out of rote. Zeke, Jason, and Chad threw various items from their lockers at Troy, the heaviest of them being Chad's ever-present basketball. "Ow, what the hell?" Troy asked, sitting upright and rubbing his head with his hand. "I'm just agreeing with you!"

"You aren't even listening to a word we're saying!" Zeke exclaimed. Troy rolled his eyes.

"Do I even have to anymore?" he asked. "Let me guess. Chad said something about going to bed earlier." Chad didn't make a sound. "Zeke, you said something about no one stopping me from going to bed earlier, and Jason, you said something about spending less time at school." No one said anything. Troy laughed and laid back down on the bench. "Yeah, I thought so."

"Oh, come on, man, we just want to help out," Chad said defiantly.

"Of course you do."

"You aren't listening anymore, are you?"

"No, really, I'll try doing what you guys ask."

"Troy, you suck."

Troy stumbled and fell to the ground heavily. Immediately, he became scared. This was one of those times, one of those times when he was sober (as if that wasn't a miracle in itself) when Jack would hurt him. To Troy, these were the worst. Not that they hurt the most, but only because he had nothing to fall back on. He couldn't excuse his dad's cruelty on alcohol. It was just Jack being uncaring, unkind, evil.

He flipped himself over quickly so that he was facing his father, for he never knew what to expect when his back was turned. Jack slammed the door shut and faced his son angrily, saying, "Where the hell were you?"

Troy gulped and shook his head, using his hardly responsive limbs to propel himself further away from his livid father. "I-I didn't mean—"

Jack stared at his son, anger blaring in his eyes, "You didn't even call me! You didn't tell what you were doing!"

"I was at school!" Troy interjected desperately. "I was just at practice late running suicides. I didn't—"

"That's not an excuse, Troy," Jack said, shaking his head gravely. "I'm sorry, but you know what I have to do."

Troy's mind went into a frenzied haze, remembering the times he had done other wrongs. Remembering the time that he hadn't cleaned his room or when he had come home past curfew. Remembering when he had spoken back or broken things in the house. And the only thing that could enter his mind was the flash of a silver belt buckle as it whipped through the air and smacked with a sickening thump on his very own back. Troy gulped and spoke in a shaking, pleading voice.

"Dad, please. No."

"Stand up, Troy."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Troy groaned as he stared out the water-splattered window. The rain had started up again, this time less brutal and a lot more calming. He sighed and turned to face his front door, ready for yet another day of school and another day of lies he had to tell. But Troy had made a decision. After last night, he wasn't staying around and waiting for his dad to get mad. He was leaving as soon as he possibly could, though the guilt wrenched at his stomach as he slid into his shoes. He heard his mom and dad last night. He knew Jack had been drunk. He knew Lucy was probably hurt. Troy shook it away, hard as it was, and continued to get dressed. Troy decided to drive his car to school, almost falling asleep at the wheel. Lately, his sleep had been limited, and he had often woken up in the middle of the night screaming after a nasty dose of a nightmare. What haunted him during day didn't leave him alone in his sleep either.

Rain splattered around his wheels as he drove lazily through the school parking lot. His headlights pierced the darkness, for it was still dark out from the billowing clouds and the time— which had been six o' clock in the morning. He found a parking spot quickly; the lot was nearly empty except for those who had sports training in the break of the morning or the devoted teachers who spent entirely too much time at school. Troy got out of the car, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. He looked towards the door of the school and slowly made his way there, letting the rain slap against his cheeks. He indolently swung open the door and walked into the fluorescent-lit hallway and listened to the squeaking of his tennis shoes on the shining tile floors. He began to hum a tune, not one he had heard before but one that he merely made up on whim. Troy traveled through the school, watching the lockers roll past him, the floor lolling underneath him. He reached two doors that swung open at his light touch, and he strolled inside. His feet just carried him right into the theater.

Troy let his fingers travel across the clothed seats in each row, touching the back of each aisle seat as he came closer and closer to the dark, looming stage. Slowly, he traveled up the steps on the right side of the stage, his footsteps echoing like thunder in the empty auditorium. The dust-covered, velvet curtains were swept off to the side, leaving an open stage in front of him. A lone microphone stand stood on the center of the stage. Troy took one long look at that microphone and jumped off the stage. He traveled back up the aisle and cut onto a staircase that led to the booth where the sound board was located. He stared at the big electronic-looking box that controlled all of the sound system in the theater. He pressed a button and waited for the small light to slowly blink green. Carefully, he turned a knob and heard the cackle of the microphone starting up. The pressing and turning were mere strokes of luck; Troy had absolutely no idea how to work the control panels. Slowly, he walked back out to the microphone and tapped his foot to a steady beat that was pulsing in his mind. He grabbed the microphone and its stand in his hands and tilted it slightly as to get it closer to his mouth. In a low, endearing voice, he sang.

_Hey, Dad, look at me  
Think back and talk to me  
Did I grow up according to plan?  
And do you think I'm wasting my time  
Doing things I wanna do?  
But it hurts when you disapprove all along  
And now I try hard to make it  
I just wanna make you  
Proud  
I'm never gonna be good enough for you  
I can't pretend that I'm all right  
And you can't change me_

Troy was so wrapped in his song he didn't notice the slight crack of the door and darkened figure slip into the back row of seats, huddling into the shadows. He tapped his foot to a steady beat and heard the strum of an imaginary guitar, and the fantasy drum pounded out a secure rhythm. Again, he brought the microphone to his mouth and sang.

_'Cause we lost it all  
Nothing lasts forever  
I'm sorry I can't be  
Perfect  
Now it's just too late  
And we can't go back  
I'm sorry I can't be  
Perfect_

A musical interlude followed, all of the unreal instruments being strummed, plucked on, drummed; the cymbals crashed, and the music played on, slowing down to start his next verse. Troy could see the music swarming in the air— he could imagine the notes swirling around the room.

_I try not to think  
About the pain I feel inside  
Did you know you used to be  
My hero?  
All the days you spent with me  
Now seem so far away  
And it feels like you don't care  
Anymore  
And now I try hard to make it  
I just wanna make you  
Proud  
I'm never gonna be good enough for you  
Can't stand another fight  
And nothing's all right_

A silent tear ran down Troy's cheek as he re-sang the chorus, wholeheartedly letting his soul and his heart combine and letting out the powerful, soulful instrument that was his voice carry through the almost empty theater. He liked the way his deep pitch echoed through the room, reverberating in his chest. He took a deep breath and began again.

_'Cause nothing's gonna change the  
Things that you said  
And nothing's gonna make this  
Right again  
Please don't turn your back  
I can't believe it's hard just to  
Talk to you  
But you don't understand_

Troy freely sang out the chorus again, letting tears fill his crystal blue eyes. The pace in his mind went faster, and he made himself louder, made himself be heard. Then suddenly, he felt himself slow down the rhythm came almost to halt.  
_  
'Cause we lost it  
Nothing lasts forever  
I'm sorry I can't be  
Perfect  
Now it's just too late  
And we can't go back  
I'm sorry I can't be_

Troy felt a warm beam of sunlight break through the tiny windows that were placed very close to the tall ceiling. It shone down on him like a spotlight, showcasing the dust that fluttered through the air.

_Perfect._

...................

Sharpay threw a hand to her mouth to cover her gasp, staring up at Troy in the center of the stage. She had showed up at school to help move the costumes from the new delivery into the dressing room early that morning and when she heard the sound system cackle to life, she felt the need to go investigate. She caught Troy in the middle of his song and decided to hear it sung out to decide if he was any good or not. He was, but that wasn't the point. Quickly, she gathered herself and made it out the theater door before Troy even finished turning off the sound system. She needed to find someone… and fast.

.....................

The school began to fill up with busy students, all bustling around and trying to find books, homework, friends, and Lord knows what else. Gabriella smiled as she stepped into the school and smelled the fragrance that always put a smile on her face: cleaning bleach, girls' shampoo and perfume, guys' cologne, paper, chalk, and sweat: the smell of her school, the smell of East High. Gabriella strategically made her way through the crowded hallways, dodging in and out of the milling students. She strolled slowly through the people and finally started towards Taylor's locker. She smiled brighter upon seeing the back of her friend's head sticking out of the locker. As quietly as she could, Gabriella tiptoed up behind Taylor and then shouted in her ear, "Guess who!"

Taylor jumped and hit Gabriella, who leaned against the lockers in a laughing heap. Taylor put a hand over her quickly beating heart and then swatted the giggling Gabriella on the shoulder, scolding, "Don't do that!"

"So!" Gabriella said happily. "How was the tutoring session with Joe?"

"About that, Gabi," Taylor said, turning to her friend. "He exploded the chemicals all over a stack of textbooks; half of the pages in the books got stained and ruined!"

"What?" Gabriella asked, horrified, her euphoric mood worn away. "Were any saved?"

"A couple," Taylor nodded solemnly. "I was trying to find you earlier…"

Troy strolled up at this point and interrupted the conversation, sounding nervous, yet in some way, relieved. He leaned against the locker and spoke to Gabriella. "Gabi, can I—uh— talk to you for a second?" he asked, playing with the bottom of his shirt.

"Can it wait a minute?" Gabriella asked, frustration lining her every word. "Taylor and I have to go back to the science lab."

She and Taylor traveled down the hallway, Taylor yammering on about the state of the books, leaving Troy all alone in the middle of the hall. He sighed and stared after Gabriella, yearning to let it all out. "Sure."

..........................

That day, during his history class, Troy was falling asleep; his eyelids were drooping and the hand that was propping his head up was beginning to fall. The sun shone warmly on his face, illuminating the large bags that had formed under his eyes from his restless night before. Just as Troy's eyelids fluttered closed, they snapped back open as he heard the small rustle of a paper falling onto his desk. The top of it had curly handwriting: "I was told to give this to you. 3 Martha." Curious, he opened the crumpled piece of looseleaf and smoothed it to the best of his abilities. His eyes never even thought of closing again after he read the words:

_I know something's wrong._


	4. Chapter 4

Troy dashed out of the room as the bell had barely begun to ring. He ran as quickly as he could towards a locker. When he arrived there, the English class had just begun to file out of the room, crowding the hallway with people. It was a surprise, to say the least, to Troy that someone knew. Luckily, he had spent enough time with the gang to know their handwriting, or he would've driven himself crazy trying to find the person. Just as his friend passed in front of his blue eyes, Troy snatched their shoulders, put a hand over their mouth, and dragged them to the adjoining hallway that remained empty, as it was just a dead end with lockers lining the walls.

"How did you find out?" Troy asked, trapping his friend between the lockers and his strong arms.

"Um, excuse you!" Sharpay exclaimed at Troy's abrupt entrance-slash-kidnapping escapade. "I would appreciate you getting your hands away from my hair! I just got it done!" She saw the pure anger blaring from Troy's eyes, his very expression, and buckled. "I heard everything," she said, gulping a bit because of Troy's apparent hostility. She straightened herself up and cleared her throat. "I heard you this morning in the theater. I put two and two together and got a problem."

"Shh! Sharpay!" Troy said, looking over his shoulder nervously. "Look, you can't tell anyone."

"Troy, I don't even know what it is..."

"You don't have to know," Troy said quickly, pulling his arms away from Sharpay. "You just have to keep your mouth shut."

"I really think that…"

"Don't think!" Troy snapped, frustrated. "I've tried really hard to keep this a secret, and I would really appreciate you not blowing it with trying to think for the first time in your life."

Sharpay raised a perfectly tweezed eyebrow. "I'm going to ignore that because I'm a good person," she said. "And besides, how can I say anything when I don't know what's wrong?" Her brown eyes connected with Troy's. "Will you just tell me what's happening?" she asked sincerely.

Troy bit his lip. That morning he had had every intention of telling Gabriella everything— about the beatings, the alcohol, everything he could put in— but when faced with the prospect, he couldn't even fathom the idea. He gazed into Sharpay's eyes, for once in their existence, full of earnestness. Troy sighed, and, doing as Sharpay had done earlier, buckled. "You won't say anything? Promise?" he asked worriedly.

Sharpay rolled her eyes and stuck up three fingers. "Girl Scout's honor."

Troy took a peek over his shoulder and turned back to Sharpay. Silently he pushed his sleeve up his arm, revealing a trail of bruises up and down his lower limb. Sharpay's eyes glazed over with a sharp intake of breath. Slowly, gently, she reached out her perfectly manicured hand and lightly grazed the blotched skin. As soon as her fingertips made contact, Troy pulled his arm away, shaking the sleeve down to his wrist.

"What…?" she began.

"He doesn't know what he's doing half the time," Troy said quickly, defending his dad. "He's too drunk to understand."

Sharpay sat silently, looking at the spot where Troy's arm had been moments before, the image burned into her mind. She sifted through every idea that came to mind between the song and his bruises. "Your dad?" she asked in practically a whisper. Her brown eyes glazed over with tears. How could this be happening? How could she not know?

"Hey," Troy said. "Hey, hey, hey, Sharpay, look at me," he demanded gently as her face twisted, trying to hold back the tears. The second she looked into his honest blue eyes, she crumpled, hot tears leaking out and dampening his shirt. Troy wrapped his arms around her, finding a slight bit of irony as he realized that he was the one comforting her in the situation, but that wasn't to say that he minded it. He was just trying to avoid the pity. "It's fine," he told her, hugging her close and rocking to calm her down. People who were beginning to walk down the halls stopped dead in their tracks and turned on their heels when they saw Troy and Sharpay together. There were some things that people shouldn't step into. A guy comforting a crying girl was one of them. "It's going to be okay. I'm okay. Everything's fine."

She didn't seem to be buying it. Sharpay lifted her blonde head and wiped the tears from her eyes, not even minding that her water-proof mascara was slightly smudged around her eyelids. "I'm going to kill him," she said in a low, shaking voice.

"Sharpay, don't…"

"That bastard!" Sharpay yelled. "That absolute bastard! I'm going to kill him! I'm going to roast him over a fire and watch him as he burns! How could he? What the hell is he—?"

"Sharpay!" Troy yelled sternly.

"No, I have a better plan," she said to herself. "I'll tie him to a chair and force him to listen to The Pajama Game for hours on end."

"Sharpay, stop!" Troy yelled. At the worry in Troy's voice, Sharpay stopped talking. She looked up at him, sorrow and anger flared in her eyes.

"Why?" she said so quietly, Troy would've had to lean in to hear her, had he not seen the question blaring in her eyes.

"Like I said, he doesn't know what he's doing." He bit his lip nervously. "You aren't going to say anything, right?" he asked anxiously. "You promised."

Sharpay looked into Troy's deep blue eyes, so sincere, so scared. They looked to her like they'd seen things that would always live with him, seen horrors most people would never have to deal with. Sharpay reluctantly nodded. Troy's expression softened, and relief replaced his once fearful face.

"Thanks, Shar," Troy said truthfully.

"Answer me one thing," Sharpay said suddenly. "How bad is it?"

"Is there a way to measure these things?" Troy asked sarcastically.

"Does it happen a lot?" Sharpay said, carefully rewording her question.

"A lot as in…?" Troy couldn't seem to grasp this questioning. He didn't see what the big deal was. Of course, Sharpay was a drama queen. She would make this as melodramatic as she could.

"Every night?" Sharpay offered.

Troy shook his head. "Not when he's sober."

"How often he is drunk?" Sharpay asked.

"I don't know," Troy said, tearing his eyes away from Sharpay's piercing brown gaze and rubbing his neck.

"Troy?" Sharpay asked angrily.

"A lot, okay?" Troy said quickly, defensively, sounding a tad bit shocked that those words had come out of his mouth.

"Troy, you can't let him—"

"Let him?" Troy asked, his voice spitting with anger. "Let him hurt me? You think that's what happens?" He shot her an icy glaze. "That's not what it's like. It's not my choice. I don't ask for it to happen, but I am asking you, as a friend, not to say anything. Please do that for me."

"Okay, okay," Sharpay said. "But if I figure out something bad happens…"

"I'm sure your intelligence and eye for detail will be able to ferret it out," Troy said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. He walked down the hall.

"Wait!" Sharpay said. She started after him. "Was that an insult?"

Lights blinked in a blinding wave; rides twirled with a whoosh. All the voices were indecipherable from another. Smells wafted precariously under Troy's nose. Music drifted through speakers and swirled through everyone's ears, and, just to add to the incoherent din, Gabriella Montez squealed in delight. "How cool is this?" she asked excitedly. The Christmas carnival had shown up in Albuquerque, quite to Gabriella's delight. She had always enjoyed the excitement and fun in carnivals, but the last time she had gone was when she was eight year olds, and her father took her to the Destin Carnival. Gabriella had dismally missed the carnivals— greasy food, creepy carnies, and all. A few of the gang had decided to check it out, especially since they felt the need for the break. With the Scholastic Decathlon, the Winter Musicale, and a basketball game around the corner, all the teens were stressed, grumpy, and tense and Gabriella had assured them a carnival was just what they needed to lift their tired spirits.

"Very," Troy said with a bright smile. Gabriella's becoming naïve always amazed him. She was so complex with the way she thought and the way her feelings flowed, but even the tiniest things brought her to euphoria.

"Come on!" Chad said, bouncing impatiently. "Let's get in line for the Spinner!"

Taylor laughed and gave Gabriella a thankful, happy smile. She let Chad bring her into the Spinner's line that was filled with little toddlers, waiting eagerly for a ride on the blinking, spinning, metal machine. Troy laughed as Chad grabbed Taylor's hand and questioned her on just about everything to do with the carnival. Gabriella stared at Troy's face; his expression was lined with apprehension and anxiety. She gently touched his strong arm, causing him to flinch in fear. Gabriella gave him a look and asked, "Are you okay? You seem a little jumpy."

"Yeah!" Troy assured her. When Gabriella gave him a look of pure disbelief, he added, "I just realized I forgot to tell my dad I was here though."

"Why don't you call him then?" Gabriella asked quizzically. Troy bit his lip and reached into his pocket gingerly (as not to disturb any sores) and brought out his cell. He flipped it open casually with his thumb, stared at the bright screen for a second and said, "It's dead. I forgot to charge it again. Come on! Let's go in the haunted house."

He grabbed her hand with a soft touch that made Gabriella smile and clutch his hand tighter. Both ran wildly to the run down shack that had become the home of the haunted house. Although the toddlers were screaming and crying, Troy and Gabriella never stopped laughing. It was absolutely unbelievable, yet they couldn't help but jump at every turn. They emerged from the house a good fifteen minutes later, wiping tears of mirth from their eyes and cheeks. Troy let out a laugh and Gabriella sighed contently. Wordlessly, they agreed to drift over to the carousel and stand in the short line. Troy turned and looked at Gabriella, his eyes soft with wisdom of pain and a straight out shot of lust.

"So, are you enjoying this?" Gabriella asked, sighing happily and running her hands over the cold metal of the fence that contained everyone in line. Troy stood behind her, grabbing the fence on either side of her and trapping her there; he rested his head on her shoulder and said, "How could I not?"

"This has been the best Friday night I have had in a long time," Troy sighed in her ear. "Thanks."

"Thanks for coming. It wouldn't be the same without you," Gabriella answered. She then flipped around and gulped, noticing that she and Troy's faces were so close together that not even a piece of paper could've hardly fit in the gap between their noses. Gabriella stepped back, and Troy cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Come on!" Troy said. "Let's get on!"

He took her hand in his and dragged her, laughing, onto the machine. Troy helped Gabriella mount a yellow pony with a crazy white mane and then mounted a gray pony with a wild expression on its plastered face. Gabriella giggled and looked at Troy.

"So," Troy said, letting his feet dangle around and "accidentally" brushing Gabriella's leg. "What are you naming yours?"

"Naming my what?" Gabriella asked, confused.

Troy patted his horse's head and said, "Your horse. What are you naming it?"

Gabriella was taken back by this question and pondered it for a moment. She finally spoke, slowly and clearly. "Rose."

"Why Rose?" Troy asked, staring at her with intently, hoping with all his might she didn't think he was a creeper. He just couldn't take his eyes off her. If Gabriella notice his stare, she didn't let on and definitely couldn't help but indulge him in her past, something that she rarely talked of.

"When I was nine years old, my dad took me horseback riding," She began as the ride slowly started up. Her horse moved gracefully up and down and she continued her story, the obnoxious music hardly nipping her ears. "I had never gone before so, he decided to start me with an old horse; her name was Rose."

"So I bet you got on the horse and mastered riding it in what? Five minutes?" Troy teased with his famous 1000-watt smile.

Gabriella laughed and said, "No. Actually, it took me a lot of courage to even get on this thing." Gabriella patted her horse's head roughly but gasped in surprise when the ear spun of and skittered onto the ground. Troy burst out laughing and almost fell off his horse trying to calm himself. Gabriella couldn't help but to laugh, too; his laugh was so contagious. "So, what'd you name yours?" Gabriella asked, once Troy gained control on himself.

"My horse?" Troy asked, looking ahead of him. "Gabriella." Gabriella was extremely taken back and stared over at him. Troy glanced at her, smiling, and then looked ahead again. Immediately after, he regretted looking ahead and stared at her again, a huge grin plastered on his face.

"What?" Gabriella asked, tucking a strand of stray curls behind her ear.

"Nothing," Troy said. "You just… never mind."

Gabriella couldn't find the words to say break the silence. She looked at Troy, and he gave her a small, shy smile. He may have been the school's most popular guy, but Gabriella still made him as shy as a two year old. Troy leaned closer to her, and Gabriella leaned closer to him. They stayed like this for a few seconds until Troy reached over closer to her. He was so close that Gabriella could feel his heat on her cheeks. She closed her eyes, preparing for what she hoped would come. And suddenly… The ride came to an abrupt stop, sending Troy to fall sideways off his horse and smack his head on Gabriella's horse on the way down. Gabriella jumped down and crouched down next to him on the ground anxiously saying, "Oh my gosh, Troy! Are you okay?" Troy's shoulders shook, and Gabriella mistakenly took it for sobs and began to panic—Troy had never cried before, not to her knowledge— but Troy then turned over, tears of laughter running down his cheeks. Gabriella's face dropped, and she said angrily, "Troy Bolton! You jerk! You scared the heck out of me! You could've really been hurt!"

Troy didn't answer but continued laughing and finally choked out, "Okay, okay. I'm sorry. Let's get off this damn ride!"

Gabriella laughed and helped him to his feet. He laughed again and both walked off the ride as quickly as they could. It wasn't until they were a few hundred yards away from the blinking carousel that Troy spoke. "Now I know why you were so afraid to get on!"

"Come on," Gabriella said. "Let's get you some ice."

Troy and Gabriella sat down on a green bench that's paint was beginning to slowly chip away. Gabriella brought the ice pack they had gotten from the concession stand to the right side of Troy's face, where his forehead folded into a temple. Troy shivered and recoiled. "That is so cold," he said as she arranged it. Troy brought a hand to his head, keeping the ice pack in place.

"Yes, ice tends to be a bit cold," Gabriella teased, looking through her pockets. She dumped a tube of Chapstick, a crumpled dollar bill, two pennies, a dime, a Hello Kitty key chain complete with car keys, and a Wet Wipe out of her pocket. She ripped the Wet Wipe open with her teeth and said, "Now hold still."

Troy scooted down the bench a bit, craning his head back as far away as he could get it from Gabriella's outstretched hand. "No way! Those things sting."

"Oh, come on, you big baby," Gabriella said, scooting closer to wipe his face. "It could get infected!"

"It's fine! See?" Troy said, removing the ice. Gabriella still persisted.

"Come on, Troy!" She begged. "Let me clean it!"

She pushed herself closer so that Troy was on the edge of the bench. Gabriella raised the disinfectant up, and Troy caught her wrist, quickly grabbing the other one. He laughed as he said, "I don't want that thing on my head!" Gabriella tried vainly to get out of his hands but she felt him tighten his grip and tug slightly at her wrist. Troy wasn't going to give up on his metallic hold on her. Then, he pulled her closer.

Their lips touched.

It was just their lips brushing together but after that spark, Gabriella couldn't do anything to stop her yearning anymore; his grip on her hands loosened, and she slipped her arms around his neck, kissing him on the lips. Troy silently wrapped his arms around her waist and gently kissed her back.

"Ahem!"

Troy and Gabriella stopped their brief kiss, pulled away from each other as if they had been shocked, and looked over their shoulders. Chad was shifting from foot to foot, a giraffe hat perched precariously on the top of his head, and chomping down on blue cotton candy. Taylor was standing next to him, hands on her hips, her foot tapping.

"Since when have you two been going out, and why wasn't I told?" Taylor asked.

The parking lot was empty besides a few loose flyers rustling about in the December winds, popcorn that had been left carelessly on the cracked pavement, and Troy's car parked in the center. It was silent: the rides had been shut off, and their lights turned down to burning specks in the Albuquerque night and then…

"I'm in love! I'm in love, and I don't care who knows it!"

Troy spun in circles around the empty lot, his arms spinning around him. He spun until he buckled onto the ground, smiling and sighing blissfully. He threw himself onto his back and stared up at the twinkling stars, his arms folded behind his head. Chad walked up, his shoes crunching the few pebbles underfoot. He collapsed next to Troy and resumed his friend's same position.

"Is this how you felt when you got together with Taylor?" Troy asked, not even staring at his friend but still not letting the smile slip off his lips.

"Probably," Chad shrugged. "I mean, I wasn't in love yet, but I guess the idea came to min. And I sure as hell didn't do that little display when I figured it out," he joked with a laugh.

Troy sighed again. "It was amazing, Chad. She's amazing. This night is just absolutely amazing."

"You mean this morning?"

"Huh?"

"Yeah," Chad said, as his friend shot up, startled. "As of six minutes ago, it's Saturday."

Troy swore and scrambled up. Chad sensed his urgency and stood up, too, following Troy to his car. Troy opened up the passenger door swiftly and turned to his friend. "We need to go now. Sorry, Chad. Will you drive?"

"Yeah," Chad said, confused at his friend's exigency. "Yeah, I'll drive."

Troy smiled slightly and dug the keys out of his pocket. He tossed them to Chad who grabbed them, promptly got in the car, and started it towards home. The only reason Troy wanted Chad to drive was because the boy wasn't afraid to go fast. They would get home quicker with Chad behind the wheel. Or they would die. Either way, Troy would probably avoid problems with his dad if Chad drove home. They pulled into Troy's driveway at 12.17 exactly. Troy hopped out of the car as quickly as he could and turned to Chad. "Thanks, man. I owe you. But I've got to get upstairs before my dad—"

"Before I what, Troy?" Troy gave a silent, inward groan and let it show on his face. He turned around, and his father's face became apparent in the shadows on his porch. The front light flicked on, illuminating the man and the anger that was captured in his face.

"Dad…" Troy said with a fake, nervous laugh. "Um, I was going to call you and…"

"Get inside, Troy," Mr. Bolton said coldly. Troy lowered his head in defeat and trudged into the house. Jack watched Troy with fury flaming his eyes. He turned to Chad. "Thank you, Chad. Good night."

Chad took that as an obvious cue to leave, so he nodded and said, "G'night, Coach." He got in his car and sped off towards his home. Somewhere halfway between his house and Troy's, Chad slammed to a halt in the middle of the street. He was still driving Troy's car. Chad flipped around in the middle of the empty street and started his way back to the Bolton's house. He pulled smoothly into the driveway and yanked the keys out of the ignition. He started his way towards the door. Chad raised a hand to knock. He stopped, mid-motion upon hearing the yelling coming from just inside the door. Curiously, he cocked an ear towards the noise, wondering just what was being said.  
Without thinking, Chad stood rooted to his spot. Obviously, it wasn't his place to be listening in, but as a curious guy, especially as a curious guy concerned about his friend, he didn't move from his spot at the front door. Straining his ears, he could hear the shouting from the otherwise silent house.

"-you left without my knowing, you were out past curfew, when you got home you were going to sneak in so I wouldn't know, but then you have the audacity to try to run away from me? Troy, what has gotten into you?"

"Don't touch me!" Chad went rigid. What was going on in there?

"What did you just say to me?" Mr. Bolton roared, his voice growing even louder. "What did you just say?"

"Leave me alone!" Troy spat loudly. "Look, I'm not a punching bag you can push around all the time! I'm a human!" He paused and got much quieter. "I'm your son." He spoke so quietly, Chad had to press his ear against the door to hear it. Troy spoke again, voice shaking. "And I'd like to be treated like it."

"Excuse me?" Jack asked incredulously after a long pause of intense silence.

Troy seemed very hesitant about what he had just done. "L-look. If it doesn't stop, I'm telling someone."

"Come again?" Jack said after a beat of silence, shocked at his son's rebellion but more so at the news that he had the audacity in him to talk to someone about this situation.

"Someone already knows, Dad," Troy said, now seeming a bit more confident. "And if you don't stop, they'll tell; I swear they will." Chad could hear a sharp smack of a hand against taut skin. There was a pause and a thud against the door. It was such a large impact that the door shook, causing Chad to jump back on the porch. Troy's strained voice came through the door, alert and scared. "Dad, stop!"

Chad had never been a watch-and-learn type of guy. He liked to jump into things. When he was being taught basketball, he did every single trick taught to him with step-by-step instructions. When construction men were working on his bathroom, he asked them to let him grout the tile instead of watching them do it for him. But Chad decided that, after hearing what he was hearing right then, watching and learning wasn't the greatest. Sometimes pretending nothing was wrong in the first place did wonders for someone like him, someone who just didn't want to believe it.

* * *

**author's note: This is a much more believable— though admittedly not completely believable— version of the other chapter. Sorry for the long update period. Life has been busy, and then my computer was messed up, and yeah. Review, please? Criticism happily taken!**


	5. Chapter 5

Chad covered his mouth with his hands to stifle even his shallow breath. As quietly as he could, he backed up and made his way backwards down the steps on the porch. He dared not make a noise as he stepped on the a creaky board and got to the walkway. Very suddenly, a loud cry emitted throughout the house. Curiosity— or was it fear?— gripped him, and he just had to sit it out. He wrestled with himself for a minute, torn between cruel curiosity and a desire to run away from what he couldn't understand. Finally, he walked back to the door, standing in attention, leaning towards the noise, and waiting for the voices to come again. Chad inaudibly stood back and strained his ears to listen.

"You told someone?" Mr. Bolton asked. There was another smacking noise. Chad could hear Troy yelp, but now more than ever, he could hear a slur in his coach's voice.

"I didn't tell anyone, Dad," Troy moaned. "They figured it out."

"Who?" Mr. Bolton demanded. There was a silence again. "I said who, Troy!" Silence, it killed Chad, but it came again. There was a loud thud as Troy hit the door again, his body's force slamming it against its frame. Chad could hardly believe that he was remembering to breathe during this. He was so confused, so worried, so scared. What was going on? Why? What wasn't Troy telling him?

Most importantly, how hadn't he seen it before?

--

Troy stumbled upwards, using his hands to pushhimself off the wood of the door. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked down at the crimson streak across it. He touched his semi-swollen lip to feel the warm liquid dot against his fingertip. "Dad, what are you doing?" he asked, quiet voice shaking. "Why are you doing this?"

Jack stood a few feet away from Troy, unmoving, looking in the distance. He lowered his gaze to his shaking hands and brought them up to his face, evidence that Troy wasn't the only one in this situation who was scared. Jack took a few backwards steps and collapsed onto the couch, his head in his hands.

Troy ran a hand through his hair, letting out a frustrated sigh. He stood a few feet away from his father, making sure he was close enough to give comfort and far enough away that he wasn't within arm's swinging distance. Silently, he waited for Jack to talk to him, to explain what he was doing, why he was doing it, to explain what the hell it was that Troy had done wrong. Jack slowly lifted his head.

"Troy, I'm sorry," Jack said. "I didn't know this hurt you so much."

Troy didn't say anything. What could he say? "Yes, Dad, you know exactly how much it hurts me. You only care every once and a while; you only care when I point it out. Other than that, it's just daily routine. Other than that, this is just a part of life that goes on." Yeah, because that would go over well.

"Troy, you have to understand where I'm coming from!" Jack cried angrily. "This is how I grew up! This is what I know!"

"So you want it to be what I know?" Troy asked. There was a heavy silence. "I just want it to stop. Mom does too. She and I are sick of it. We deserve to be treated better than this, Dad. Please."

"It's your fault," Jack sneered at Troy. "It's all your fault! You're the reason our family is falling apart! You're the reason I am why I am!"

Troy was silent. He didn't know what to say. He knew what his dad claimed was ridiculous, so he tried not to think about it, tried not to let Mr. Bolton get in his head. Jack could play mind games all he wanted. Troy wasn't going to join in. He walked to the doorway and looked back with a heavy sigh and an aggravated shake of his head.

"Good night, Dad."

Thirty minutes and eight beers later, Jack was reeling drunk and lashing out at Troy again. But this time, something peculiar happened. Seconds after Jack's hand collided with Troy's jawbone, he faded; he wasn't Troy anymore. He was floating above the scene, not feeling, not hearing, not listening. When it was all over, when Jack had finally stumbled out of the room, Troy came back to himself. He shakily stood up, feeling everything once more, wishing that once again, he was just floating above, and not really real.

And Troy knew that what Jack had said earlier, his apology, his explanation, it had all been a lie.

But lies were normal in the Bolton house. They had to lie about their lives all the time. Otherwise no one would think they were happy. They lied to themselves about it every day.

He slowly shut the door with a small click, and walked down the staircase and into his the living room. Troy spread himself out on the couch and turned on the television. The channel was set on Soap Network, the soap opera channel Lucy always watched. All My Children was playing, and Troy set down the remote, watching the screen with vigilance.

Watch someone else's crappy life for once, instead of living one.

At 1.30, Troy found that he couldn't sleep, waiting up for his mom, so he grabbed his backpack from his room and lugged it down the staircase, hardly letting it touch his back. He dropped it heavily on the floor, letting its thud resound through the lower level of his house. He cursed himself for being so tactless and unzipped his backpack slowly, letting its grating noise fill his tired ears. Troy pulled the newest script by Kelsi, A Day in the Life, and opened the first page, letting his new life swarm in front of his eyes.

It was the story of a man named Rick Resnick, a man born lucky. Everyday, everything he wanted was at his fingertips. Then one day, he met Lady Madeline Clearwater. He wanted her so badly, and she didn't want him. His luck had run out.  
Troy almost laughed when he read the script for the first time. Unlucky? Not getting a girl? Oh, the poor man. Must have a bad life. But, one thought led to another, and Troy found himself thinking:

Maybe everyone suffers the same.

If you grow up living a life of luxury and you don't get the new car you wanted, it may be just as hard on you as it is for the kid in the ghetto whose friend was shot in a drive-by shooting. When you grow up knowing one thing, it's hard to imagine anyone else having it worse than you. So maybe Rick Resnick did have a bad draw. All he wanted was a girl…

Maybe that was why Troy liked acting so much. It made him think. He played a new part; he had someone's life. He wasn't Troy Bolton. He wasn't the basketball star, the guy who randomly tried out for a play. He wasn't the boy with the ever present smile and the way too long hair. He wasn't the kid was an absentee mother and an abusive father. He was just someone else, someone who had all the answers written out for him. Someone with his words chosen for him so he couldn't make a mistake. Someone who could experience something so awful in his life but never have to think about it again. To Troy, even playing the guy who did everything wrong was good. Becoming a new person entirely was okay with him.

Even if it did mean his new name would be Rick Resnick.

Jack Bolton groaned and rolled over onto his back, rubbing his gently throbbing head with his strong hands. He blinked, his eyes getting used to the darkness, and sat up. His head pounded with pain as he slowly rubbed it in vigorous circles. Jack began to wonder how late it was. Was he late for work? What day is it? Did he have an appointment?

"Troy!" Jack screamed.

He pounded down the stairs, his feet straining to get to his son as fast they could carry him. He shouted Troy's name again and stopped, still as a statue, on the landing. Troy lying on the couch, eyes shut, but flitting open every once and a while to catch a glimpse of the infomercial on the television. His books were lying everywhere around the living room, his backpack opened at the foot of the couch. A thick packet of papers— was that a script?— sat on the coffee table. Troy wasn't stirring. Jack walked down the rest of the stairs and stood in front of the television. Troy seemed to notice the lack of light and lifted one lazy eyelid. "What are you doing?" Jack snapped.

"Homework," Troy said dully, rolling over on the couch so he wouldn't be facing his dad.

Jack stared disbelievingly at his son. He crossed the void between he and Troy and grabbed Troy's shoulder, forcing him to turn over on the couch cushions. Troy jarred into full alert and groggily sat up, gripping the edge of the couch with a metallic grip. Jack looked Troy in the eye and asked, "Are you mouthing off to me?"

Troy froze up. "No."

"Because I think you are."

"I'm not."

Jack let it go and rubbed his tired eyes. "What time is it?"

"Two," Troy said with a yawn, glancing at the clock on the mantle of the fireplace. "Why?"

Anger flared in Jack's chest. "What are you doing up so late?"

"I-I was just…" he stuttered.

"You were supposed to be in bed at eleven o' clock!""Just staying up three hours past when you're supposed to be in bed?" Jack barked. "You know you're in training! You're supposed to be in your room!"

"I know," Troy said quickly. "I was just… I was waiting for Mom."

Jack eyed Troy. "Why?"

_To warn her you were drunk again._

The two of them did this for each other on any occasion that they could. It was hard enough to receive a beating but to not be prepared for anything that was coming? That was even worse. After all, by being warned that Jack was drunk, Lucy and Troy could avoid doing something that would piss him off. Things that annoyed Jack when he was drunk didn't always annoy him when he was sober. It was nice to have a heads up, but it didn't make a beating any more pleasant.

"Just because I need to talk to her."

"About what?"

"About… a school project?"

Jack was just hungover enough to believe it.

"You idiot," he snapped. "You think she would help you at two o' clock in the morning?"

"Oh, I guess I didn't think of that," Troy said convincingly.

"Of course you didn't," Jack snapped. "You get that from your mother, the stupidity." Troy winced but kept quiet. They were just insults. They didn't mean anything. Jack suddenly grabbed Troy's upper arm, causing him to wince in pain. "Go upstairs," he said, roughly shoving Troy in the direction of the staircase. "Go to sleep, g-ddammit, or I'll make you." Troy nodded and rushed up the staircase, leaving his homework, his script, and his father back in the living room.

He figured, just for this one night, he could do without any of them.

---

"Troy, grab me a beer," Jack said, sitting on the couch in the living room. Troy was up to his elbows in homework at the kitchen table, trying to sort through equations from his pre-calculus class. Annoyed to no end, he just shot his dad a nasty look that the man would never see. He looked back down at his paper, tapping his pencil hard against the notebook as he though through all of the problems in his head. He didn't even dignify Jack's demand with a response. "Troy, I told you to grab me a beer!" Jack snapped when nothing came to him.

"Yeah, well, I'm busy," Troy muttered darkly, peering at his notes. "Get it yourself." That was all it took for Jack to stand up and storm into the kitchen, face twisted in anger. He stomped up to his son, grabbing hold of his arm with a metallic grip and yanking him out of his chair. With the sudden surprise, Troy fell right to the floor. He glared up at his dad, struggling to get up with only use of one arm. "What the hell, Dad?" he asked. Jack yanked him off the floor and started pulling him away from the kitchen table.

"Come with me," Jack demanded, tugging his son.

"O-okay."

Jack led Troy through the kitchen and up the stairs, down the hall until they were at their small bathroom. He waited in front of it, expectantly. Troy's eyes widened in horror. He took a faltering step backwards.

"No, Dad, come on. This is ridiculous! What'd I even do?" he said, trying to back away. Jack grabbed Troy by his shoulder and shoved him forward. Troy luckily caught hold of the towel rack inside, but when he turned around, the door was slammed shut, the lock placed strategically on the outside of the door by his father clicked. He was swallowed by darkness. Numbly, he reached for the light switch. Finally, his fumbling fingers found it, and he flicked it on. Dim light flooded the room, and as suddenly as it had come, it flickered out. Troy swore under his breath. He banged his fist on the door in his terror and rapidly slowed down the banging until it stopped altogether. He heard his mom fighting with his dad. He pressed an ear to the door to listen.

"Oh, come on, Jack, this isn't necessary!" Lucy said loudly. "Just let him out."

"Lucy, shut up and get to bed," Jack snapped at her.

"No, I'm letting our son out of the g-ddamn bathroom you locked him in." There was the sound of a smack of a palm against taut skin, and the sound of Lucy's footsteps approaching her son stopped. "Oh!" she gasped in surprise. Troy pressed himself up to the doorway, his ear pressed against the wood, his hand bracing himself against the door.

"Mom?" he asked.

"I mean it, Lucy," Jack said. "Go to bed. I'm dealing with Troy." And there wasn't another word spoken.

The boy pushed himself away from the door, the lost hope draining him of what little energy he had left. Troy, distressed beyond words, put his forehead on the wall, and rested his arms up above his head, giving the drywall a good punch with his fist before letting out his heaviest sigh yet. He turned his back to the wall and slid to the cold tile floor. He ran a hand through his hair and waited for sleep to befall him.

Soon enough, the nightmares, just like the darkness, swallowed him whole.

The weekend passed with flying colors, and Monday came sooner than Troy had hoped; he had stayed at home all weekend, nursing his wounds that had hardly begun to heal. As soon as he got out of his car on Monday morning, he made his way into the school, hoping to avoid immediate confrontation with his friends. To Troy's complete dismay, Sharpay found him not even five minutes after he entered the school. She had been following him every since he walked through the doors, and Troy was starting to get pissed.

"What'd you do this weekend?"

"Went to the carnival."

"What else?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing."

"So… think it'll be okay if you come to my house for a project?"

"I don't think so, Shar," Troy sighed, throwing a book in his locker. "I don't even have any classes with you. I'm not buying it; he probably won't."

"Probably won't," Sharpay prodded. "It's worth a try. I mean, what will you be missing? Your beating?" She snorted. "Oh, what a shame."

Troy whirled around, face red with anger. "Don't you ever," he said angrily. "Say that again, do you understand me?"

"Geez, Troy," Sharpay said, stepping back. "Go all emo-angry on me, will you?"

"He's still my dad, Shar," Troy said acidly. "I owe him some respect."

Sharpay snorted. "Yeah, you owe him something, all right," she said sarcastically. "A 'Thank you for beating me, Dad! I really enjoy it!'"

"Sharpay, stop!" Troy growled. He lowered his voice. "I don't want you to come tell me how to run my life. I know what I'm doing—"

Sharpay snorted again. "Obviously not if you let him keep hurting you."

"What would you know anyway?" Troy snapped. Sharpay opened her mouth and shut it again, unable, for once in her life, to find something to say.

"Don't come in here and act like you know what I'm going through," Troy said quietly. "Because you don't."

"Troy, I—"

Troy slammed his locker shut. "Save it, Shar," he said and stormed away.

"Are you okay?"

It was free period. Troy and Gabriella were sitting on the rooftop garden. They hadn't said a single word to each other since the beginning of the break. "Oh, yeah," Troy said with a false nod.

"Okay," Gabriella said slowly, not believing Troy one bit. "Hey… we should catch a movie sometime this week."

"Um, Gabi… about that," Troy said, walking over to the balcony rail that overlooked the stairs. He rested his hands on the bar and took a deep breath, about to make one of the worst decisions of his life. "I don't think we… feel the same way about each other." That was a lie. That was a complete and total lie, and Troy knew it. He had never felt this way about a girl before. Every move she made was graceful to him, every gesture, every blink was like a work of art, painted just before his eyes. He would do anything to be with her. It killed him that he had to hurt her, more than anything else he had done so far.

"What?" Gabriella asked.

"Not that I don't like you," Troy added quickly. "Just… I don't like you like that, you know?"

Gabriella looked mortified at Troy who didn't even turn in her direction. She walked up to him, tears forming in her eyes and she asked, "So that's it? After you… after… after you… you decided to dump me like that?"

"Gabriella," Troy said soothingly. "You have to understand me, I want to be friends with you, but I just don't think we should date, that's all." This is bullshit was all he could think. Is she actually buying this? Because even he wasn't that convincing of an actor.

"Why not?" Gabriella asked acidly.

Troy bit his lower lip. How do you say "I don't want to get in trouble with my abusive father" without letting slip the "I don't want to get in trouble with my abusive father" part? "It's not you, Gabi," Troy said with a sigh. "It's me. I mean, you're a great person and all, just… not my type."

In a temporary fit of anger-driven insanity, Gabriella slapped Troy hard across the face. Troy's head flipped to the side, and his hand flew to his jawbone. He looked at Gabriella, his eyes filled with pure undeniable fear. Troy opened and closed his mouth many times and tried to get words to form. In the end, he just shook his head and headed down the stairs. Troy stopped and looked up at her with sad eyes. Gabriella waited in silence and only moved when she heard the door slam below.

Sometimes, not saying anything at all says everything you need to hear.


	6. Chapter 6

After gym class, Troy always hung around the locker rooms longer than anyone else. After the place was clear, he'd change and clean up a bit so the janitor wouldn't want to murder the team. He quickly towel dried his hair and tossed it in a laundry bin. When he turned around to clear out his locker station, he was met face-to-face with Chad Danforth. Troy yelped and fell backwards, trying to pull off a "I'm-Totally-Cool-And-Did-Not-Just-Spazz-Out" thing. "Chad," he said with a fake laugh. "Hi. What're you doing here?"

Chad bit his lip. "Look, Troy, we have to talk." Troy nodded and walked into the station, bending over and scooping damp towels off the concrete floors and turning back to his friend.

"Yeah, sure," he said while dumping the towels into the bin. "What do you want to talk about?" Chad bit his lip and leaned against the doorway as Troy reentered the section and continued to clear it up. He wasn't sure how to ask the question. How does one ask their best friend they had ever had if their dad beat him up on a semi-daily basis? How did you shatter a friendship with one simply inquiry and not be uneasy about it?

"What happened," Chad asked. "On Friday night?"

Troy's heart started to beat a mile a minute. He managed to keep the rest of himself looking cool, calm, and collected. He knitted his dark eyebrows at his friend. "What do you mean? Gabriella and I kissed. I already told you about that," he said. "And then I went home."

"Yeah. Right," Chad said, starting to follow Troy as he picked up candy wrappers and discarded water bottles. "What happened after you got home?" Troy paused in his cleaning, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He gathered up the bits of trash around his feet and straightened himself out.

"I went to bed?" he said, turning around, face-to-face with Chad once more. "Man, what's with you and being in my personal bubble today?" Troy asked with a fake laugh and trying to find a way around Chad. The boy had planted himself so firmly in the ground, he seemed unshakable.

"I think you're lying, Troy," Chad said, crossing his arms in front of his chest. He wasn't going to bullshit his way through his anymore. It was time to get some answers from the questions that he had been asking his friend for fifteen years. "Where'd you get that?" Chad asked in a gruff voice. Troy looked down at his arm. He was in a short sleeve shirt, a bruise crawling out from under the cloth. He clamped a hand over it and tried to turn away.

"That's nothing," Troy muttered.

"Bullshit!" Chad said, stepping in front of his friend again. "That is absolute bullshit, Troy! What is going on? Why won't you tell me?" Troy shook his head, looking at the ground.

"Look, man, I don't know what you're talking about," Troy tried again.

"Stop lying!" Chad said, laughing incredulously. Even after all he had heard, Troy was still denying everything. "I was outside your door on Friday night, Troy! I heard everything! Now what the _hell_ is going on?" There was an uncomfortable, heavy silence that was filled with every word that had gone unsaid in their relationship. Troy looked desperately at Chad, as if he was begging Chad to forget, but the boy wasn't budging. He had been oblivious this long, but he wasn't going to fail his friend anymore.

Troy knitted his eyebrows in anger, trying to cover his fear with rage as best as he could. "What were you doing listening outside my door?" he asked. "What happens at my house is none of your business, so get your fucking nose out of it." He tried once more to get around Chad. The boy place a firm hand on the doorway, gripping it so tightly, his knuckles shined.

"You're scared, Troy," he said. "You're scared, and I know it, so would you stop this whole act for just one second please?"

"I'm not scared," Troy said, rolling his eyes and walking away, back towards his locker to find something to occupy himself with. He busied himself with the dial on his locker door.

"I know you, Troy," Chad said. "You've been my best friend since we were two years old, and this is exactly what you do when you're scared shitless." Troy was rarely angered, but when he was, there was always fear behind it. Chad had been with his best friend enough to figure that much about him, and Troy was doing the same thing he had done only a few times before. "So can you stop pretending and just be my best friend for a minute? What's going on with you?"

Troy bit his lip and played with his lock for a few seconds, trying to gulp back all the things he wanted to say so that the stone could come back up and harden before he spoke. He wasn't going to give away the secret he had been harboring for seventeen years just because he had been caught. "You're crazy," he said, shaking his head and trying to make it out the doorway again. Chad stood in front of him, made of the same stone that Troy was, hard enough to keep himself grounded for what he believed was right.

"Troy, I can't help you if you won't let me," he said.

"I don't need your help," Troy said, his voice low, anger boiling under his chest. Chad was making it really hard for Troy to keep this a secret. "Let me out of here. Now."

"I can't," Chad said. "I can't let you go again. I know what's going on, and I'm not going to let you let your dad walk all over you anymore. I have to do something. I don't care if you hate me for it, but I'm not going to let him kill you—"

"Don't!" Troy roared. In one swift movement, he had Chad pinned against the wall of lockers, the metal locks clanging against the door with the force. Chad was shocked into silence for the first time in a long time as he watched his friend's blue eyes cloud with uncontrollable rage and fear. "Don't you say that about my dad," he said, giving Chad a rough shake. He stopped himself, looking down at his shaking hands, horrified now more than ever. He started to take shaking steps backwards. "I…" He didn't know what to say. He had just tried to hurt his best friend in the same way his father tried to hurt him. "I'm sorry. I have to go." He grabbed his bag and sprinted out of the locker room, leaving Chad behind, wondering how he had become the man he promised not to turn into.

Troy walked around in an absolute daze that day. Nothing that anyone said or did snapped him out of his sleep-like state. Chad hardly spoke to him but looked at him with gloomy eyes, afraid that anything he said or did would upset Troy even more. At lunchtime, Troy had been so nervous about what had happened earlier that he didn't want to face his friends at the cafeteria table; nonetheless, he sat at the table and slowly unfolded the top of his paper bag. He looked around at the lunch table of people who were staring at him with the same distressing eyes that Chad was giving him earlier. Troy sighed and shut his lunch, asking, "Okay, who knows?"

Slowly, every hand at the table raised a tad bit, and they all looked guiltily at Troy. Troy groaned and put his head into his folded arms at the table. Kelsi pat Troy lightly on the back, and Troy winced. Kelsi withdrew her hand quickly. "Did I hurt you?" she asked worriedly.

Troy shook his head but didn't remove it from his arms. His muffled voice radiated through his temporary headrest, "No."

"Troy, you need to tell someone," Ryan said, shaking his head disapprovingly.

When they first found out, most of them reacted differently. Some of his friends refused to believe it. Some of them were just plain shocked. A couple swore up and down they always knew something was wrong, but no matter what their initial statement had been, afterwards, all had fallen into complete silence, shocked. Finding out that a friend was being abused was hard. Finding out how long it had been was harder because then they all figured out that they had done absolutely nothing to help him. They hadn't even looked. They had had a an hour or so to get over this realization and now they were all ready to take action. It was time, they decided. Troy needed their help. They were going to give it to him whether he wanted it or not. Troy picked his head up, his face lined with anger. "So, you guys have been in this position?" They all remained silent. "Oh, because you're acting like you have been," he said snappily.

"Troy, we're trying to help," Zeke said, offended. "We don't want to see you get hurt!"

"Don't preach to a choir who knows more than you, Zeke," Troy snapped. Once more, the table fell into silence. If there was one thing Troy Bolton was good at, it was rendering a crowd speechless. "This is harder than it seems, okay?" he said, quieter than before.

"Troy, this is simple," Sharpay snapped. "Your father is—"

"Shar!" Troy cut her off.

"What?" Sharpay asked. "I mean, seriously, Troy, you might as well admit it before you get yourself killed."

"Shut up, Sharpay," Troy said, voice low. "Shut the hell up."

"No!" Sharpay said indignantly. "Look, I'm sorry I'm the only one here who has the guts to say it to you, but you have to hear it. If you don't do something about it, we will."

"Sharpay," Troy said, looking so menacing that he would have scared himself. "If you tell anyone, so help me G-d, I will kill you."

"Troy, what is wrong with you?" Taylor asked, mortified.

Silence. Such a heavy silence among the teens that if it hadn't been for the noise of the cafeteria around them, they would've been crushed by the weight of the things no one was saying. "Troy, we're worried about you," Jason defended.

"Well, stop being worried about me!" Troy snapped.

"How can we when you turn around and act like this?" Taylor asked. "Troy, you've never done this before. You're snapping at all of us. You're tired and irritable—"

"I'm always tired and irritable," Troy deadpanned.

"No, you're always tired," Chad pointed out. "There's a difference between being tired and being a bitch, and you're just being a bitch."

"Would you guys just leave me alone?" Troy snapped, standing up to make his exit. "I don't need your help." He started to leave.

"You don't. Your dad does," Gabriella said to the table in a quiet voice, speaking for the first time. Yet her murmur seemed to the be the only thing that made Troy pause. He looked at her, unsure of what to do. Leave like he planned? Or stay behind and see what they have to stay?

Zeke, seeing the opportunity to get to his friend, took it and spoke curtly. "Troy, come on. If we even have to be having this discussion, there's a problem." Troy shook his head like he wasn't believing a word that Zeke said. There wasn't a problem. Was there? Troy had to reason with himself in the silence that followed. There was a reason he had been hiding this from his friends for so long. If he truly didn't think it was a problem, he would've told them a long time ago. He sat back down at the table. But he didn't want to admit it, and he could be really stubborn when need be.

Troy finally decided on a course of action, one that his mother normally took: denial. "Look, this is ridiculous. You're acting like my parents. You—"

"Isn't the point," Gabriella asked, "that we aren't acting like your parents?"

Troy looked from friend to friend, desperately seeking one familiar face that had faith in him, that had faith in his father. It was a hard adventure to depart on. After all, Troy himself had lost almost all faith in the man a long, long time ago. "Come on, guys, this is stupid." He turned to his best friend, his last hope. "I mean, Chad, seriously, you've known me since preschool. You've known my dad since preschool. Out of anyone, I'm sure you'd get that this is total bullshit."

"Troy," Chad said slowly. "I thought I knew your dad. Now I'm not so sure."

Troy felt a surge of anger rip through his chest like he had never felt in his life. "You know what, fine!" Troy snapped, standing up and knocking over lunches in his haste. "If you guys aren't going to believe me, that's fine because… He's my dad." He paused and took the time to look all his guilty-looking friends in the face. "And I'm not going to turn my back on my dad because my friends are being assholes." He banged his fist on the table each time he mentioned his father, and when he did, forks and knives clattered against the hard table, making up for the lack of noise coming from his seemingly-mute friends. He rushed away limping, leaving his friends alone at the table, staring around stunned to silence. The confusion of the cafeteria overwhelmed them until it finally got to the point that the whole table turned back to their lunches and ate in complete silence, Troy's words ringing in their ears:

"He's my dad."

And that's what was so unfair about it.

It was 10.30. Taylor sat on her bed, typing away on her laptop. She smiled, having finished an extra credit essay; exactly 1697 words long. Taylor wiggled in her bed, her mind flying to subjects she did not want to face, and she flipped on the light next to her bed.  
Her phone began to ring, and Taylor let it. She didn't want to talk on the phone right then. Then her cell phone rang, and Gabriella's face popped up on the screen. Sighing, she picked it up.

"Hello?"

"Taylor, it's Gabriella," Gabriella said. She sounded as if she had been crying. "I did something really bad."

Taylor was at full attention. She bolted completely upright in her bed and pressed the phone closer to her ear. Suddenly, she was up and moving, sliding her feet into a pair of flip flops and searching under papers on her desk for car keys.

"What happened?" she asked frantically. "Are you okay? Is someone hurt?"

"I'm fine," Gabriella sniffed. "Taylor, I hit Troy."

Taylor froze, clutching the keys in her hand. She switched the phone to her other ear, her eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "Wait, what?"

"It was earlier today!" Gabriella cried, her voice semi-muffled as she buried herself into her pillows on her bed. "It was before Sharpay told me… well, it was before! I didn't know!"

"Honey," Taylor said calmly, her voice shaking a bit. "It's fine. It'll be fine. I'm sure Troy isn't taking it to heart." After all, if he didn't think getting beaten on a semi-daily basis was a big deal, what was one smack from his teenaged crush?

"I know, but what do I say?" Gabriella asked desperately. "What do I do?"

"Tomorrow at school, you walk up to him, say, 'I'm sorry; please forgive me,' cross your fingers, and hope for the best," Taylor said. "Troy's a nice guy; I doubt he wouldn't forgive you."

"I was a bitch," Gabriella muttered. "A completely big bitch."

"Why'd you hit him anyway?" Taylor asked, kicking off her shoes and tossing her keys on her desk. She plopped herself back onto her bed.

Gabriella sniffled. "He told me he didn't want to go out with me," she said. "I was just so mad; I didn't know what I was doing until after I did it."  
Taylor knitted her eyebrows again, thinking. "Well, why wouldn't he go out with you?" she asked slowly. "I mean, he's madly in love with you."

Taylor could practically hear Gabriella blush. "He is not!" she said.

"Yes, he is, honey," Taylor said. "I don't think I've ever seen someone so love struck. And I know Zeke."

Gabriella gave a watery laugh. "Zeke's pretty love struck, huh?"

Taylor laughed too. "Oh, yeah." There was a silence. "I think you should just talk to Troy. Just… say sorry. I'm sure he'll listen."

"All right, I will," Gabriella sighed. "Thanks, Tay. Wish me luck."

"My fingers are crossed."

_Click._ Taylor hung up the phone and relaxed into her pillows. She sighed and closed her eyes, crossing her pointer fingers and middle fingers together and, for extra luck, crossing her arms over her chest. At the moment, she didn't know whom for: Gabriella or Troy.

After thirteen and a half failed attempts at calling Troy— her nerves had caused her to hang up the first time— Gabriella decided to drive to his house and apologize to him face-to-face, and that way, he couldn't hang up on her and not listen. The worst he could do was slam the door in her face, which Gabriella wouldn't blame him if he did. The door didn't matter to her anyway. It was just a barrier of sound, but Troy would hear her words through it, and the emotion, the meaning put behind that, because no slab of wood would ever take that out of her apology. She parked at the curb rather haphazardly, locked the car doors, and mustered up the courage to go up to the front porch. This would be the hardest part: not chickening out halfway there, but she figured she had come this far; she might as well do what she came for. After all, he might give her the chance to apologize on behalf of everyone else for the horrendous affair at lunch that day. Man, could her day be anymore packed with drama?

With a trembling hand, Gabriella reached out and grabbed hold of the knocker. She banged on the wood four times. Waited ten seconds. Fifteen. No answer. Banged three more times. Waited fifteen more seconds. Twenty. No answer. "Troy?" she called tentatively through the wood. "I know you're home; your car's in the driveway." She sighed heavily. "Please open up," she begged, crossing her arms over her chest and burying her shaking hands in her armpits to stop the quivering. "I need to talk to you."

There was the click of a lock being unbolted, and Troy appeared in front of her, face flushed pink, eyes shining with annoyance. Somehow, though, Gabriella could tell the annoyance wasn't aimed at her. It was at something else… something she had a small clue as to what it was. "Gabi?" Troy asked, leaning heavily against the doorframe. His expression softened. "What're you doing here?"

"I, uh, came to apologize," Gabriella said, looking at the ground. "I know you're angry at me, so I wanted to say I'm sorry."

Troy seemed way too distracted. Gabriella heard a crash somewhere over his shoulder. Troy heard it too. She craned her neck to see what it was, and the boy stepped in her view. "Mad at you?" he asked, turning a bit to get a look inside his house. He turned back to her. "Why would I be mad?"

"Well, I mean, you know, with earlier today, when I… yeah, I mean, I was just overreacting. I totally understand what you're saying," she said, rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly. "And that was so out-of-character of me, and it was completely unnecessary. I'm sorry."

"No, no," Troy said quickly. He didn't seem to really be paying any attention. He took a quick glance over his shoulder again. "It's fine. I get it. No big deal."

"Is there… something going on in there?" Gabriella asked, trying to see around the boy in front of her once more. He blocked her view again and gazed down at her with a faker-than-plastic smile and a nervous fringe to his voice.

"No," he said a bit too quickly.

"Okay," Gabriella said slowly. He was lying. He was so lying! "And about at lunch… Troy, we really didn't mean it," she went on. "We're just concerned, that's all. We want to help you."

"Yeah, I get it," Troy said. "And I'm sorry I overreacted. I'm just a bit tense right now and all…"

"Troy!" a drunken voice yelled. "Troy, I can't find my… keys… I need to get in… the closet?"

"One second, Dad!" Troy yelled to the living room. He turned back to Gabriella, eyes wide with worry. "Look, I'm sorry, but you have to go."

"Do you need some help…?"

"No, I'll be fine," Troy said, stepping back into the house and grabbing the door, ready to shut it. "Well, hey, it was great seeing you. Nice talking to you. I'll see you tomorrow. Okay. Bye!" He shut the door.

Gabriella stood silently on the front porch, staring at the door as the knocker clanged against it. "O-okay!" she said, as if Troy was listening. "Bye!"

Inside, Troy grabbed his father's arm and tugged him backwards, supporting Jack's body with his own. "Dad, you are so drunk," he muttered.

"I am… not!" Jack slurred, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "Why would you… say that?"

"Because there is no key to the broom closet!" Troy exclaimed. "Now let's…"

Instantly, Jack swung around, the back of his hand connecting with Troy's cheek. Troy stumbled back, unprepared for the attack, and put his hand to his face. His cheek stung. He could feel where the cold metal of his dad's class ring struck his cheekbone. He froze, looking at his dad with terrified blue eyes, not moving his hand from his face, waiting for something to happen. Jack's hands started shaking as he looked down at them. He looked up at Troy and back to his palms over and over again, horror etched in his face.

"Troy, I didn't mean—," he tried to say. Troy still didn't move. He made no facial expression, no shifting. Just remained stony because that was the only way he'd ever be able to get through any of it. "I didn't... I'm so sorry," he whispered, looking at the floor. When he glanced back up at his son, Jack's eyes were shining with tears. Troy knew what was coming only because it had happened so many times before. It used to give him hope, but now, it was just an empty promise, something spoken but not really meant. It was just Jack's way of releasing the guilt; he'd turn back to stone soon enough. "I didn't mean to hit you. I'm sorry." Troy went rigid as the man stepped up to him, wrapping his large arms around Troy's slightly trembling body. Troy lowered his hand from his face, but he didn't return the hug. Jack held his son at arm's length, looking him right in the eyes. "You're all I have, Troy," he said quietly. "You're all I have. I didn't mean to hurt you. I'm sorry."

Troy jerked himself away, emotion welling in his chest. The sorrow hardened a lump in his throat, but the anger just hardened his heart. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse, struggling around the tears that he refused to let fall. "No you're not." And he walked away, leaving Jack all alone in the kitchen.


End file.
